Bedlam's Sojourn
by GaiaCleaver
Summary: The year is 1937. A luxury airship departs from New York on a seemingly normal voyage- but when the commotion catches up to it, whatever shall occur? Rated T.
1. Chapter 1

_**Baccano!: Bedlam's Sojourn  
**_

Chapter 1: In the face of another incident, the vice-director once again denies that possibility that he is involved.

"_Come one, come all, to the stupid commotion!"_

The year was 1938.

For the world, it wasn't the best of years. Tensions in Europe were heightening, what with the activities of a certain far-right German becoming both far more drastic in nature and far more commonplace. The rest of the world was either doing as much as it could to either try and handle the problems that this particular citizen and other people or things were causing, or doing as much as it could to try to not be affiliated with the troubles that were going on in the world.

Such was the case with America, who had stayed rather quiet as the pot boiled in Europe, and even with an air of rather fragile placidity settling in around the country due to the USA's lack of participation in settling global problems, there were still those that thought their country should take action, that it should go against the status quo. Simply, many were concerned, be it about their nation's stance on worldly affairs, or even the concept of a future conflict.

Not every citizen fretted about only those two things, though. Indeed, many showed signs of worry over other matters.

Such was the case, deep in the hustle and bustle, the noise and commotion of New York, for one teenage girl. No ordinary one, mind you.

Her name was Carol. Ever since she was young, she had the distinction of being a member of the Daily Days newspaper company. Not just _any _member, mind you, dear reader, for she held a position of high regard, one that she still did hold to this day- the assistant of the ever-analytical pragmatist that was Gustav Saint Germain.

And what worried her at this point in time was not global happen-stances nor the predictions of a war, but rather, an assignment. A rather bizarre one, set by the vice-director of the group himself. This task that he dictated to her was regarding an event that had only happened a year prior to now, an obligation referencing a specific incident- a case about an airship named the _Fair Lady_. And, in the midst of attempting to complete that errand, she was swamped in papers, wallowing through information and selecting even more books to file through, for a long while or a short one, depending, and eventually adding them to the mountainous piles of codices that were stacked precariously around her.

All the while, the dutiful brown-haired girl, whilst crawling about the table and sifting through more written data, couldn't help but feel a pervading sense of deja vu nagging at the back of her head. Upon discovering this internal nuisance, she stopped scurrying about the tabletop and reclined, with a collection of books lying in front of her.

_This does appear to be incredibly familiar, _she mused. _Like that instance a few years back..._

She recalled a task set to her in days long since past, again, by Saint Germain, referring to a heist aboard a luxury train, which, too, occurred in days long since past.

_This incident bears likenesses to it...granted, there are differences, but similarities can't be denied. _Carol's train of thought surged onwards. She then cast an off-hand glance downwards, and thought further, _Even the position I'm in..._

She then thought about the vice-director again, and wondered about what it was he had said to her upon finding her submerged in heaps upon heaps of literary material without him knowing. _I have half the mind to think that the boss will just materialize out of nowhere, and say-_

"Carol..._still _such bad manners!"

The girl let out a cry as the new voice spoke, startling her so much that she, ultimately, nearly fell off the table. The reason it frightened her, however, was not because of its sudden, unprecedented entrance.

_Those thoughts...almost hit the mark..._

She quickly managed to regain her composure, and splutter out: "V-Vice-director! I-"

"Such a fine member of our team and you still haven't changed some habits in the five years you've been with me." The man's tone was suave, well-educated, yet condescending. "A shocking aspect, wouldn't you say?"

Carol stayed silent.

"That aside," Gustav said, carrying on, "your progress?"

The girl suddenly beamed. "I've looked through a lot of documents we have stored regarding the matter at hand..."

Gustav merely gave an inquisitive look. "And?"

"Well, this, so far, has been easy enough. That one woman...a part of the Russo family...she and her cohorts. They were the bad guys, right?"

No response from the aged man.

"And that second group, who was there for unknown reasons- I read that they were trouble causers, right?"

A pause, then:

"...Ninety-five points."

The mention of points had, in the past, flustered Carol greatly. Even now, it still did, as she bowed her head, nervous, and replied: "Out of how many?"

"You have only discerned sides, Carol. You have not decided upon main characters. For example, Carol...what if, despite her doings, that Russo woman was the central point of this happenstance?"

* * *

**October 12th, 1937.**

**Location: _Fair Lady_ luxury airship.**

"I'll stick you...like a PIG!"

In the bowels of the gargantuan airship known as the _Fair Lady,_ a bloodbath was taking place.

In one of the many hallways that spread throughout the monstrous vessel, said bloodbath was being instigated and carried out by a currently infuriated redhead going by the name of Yasha Bellini Russo- a devoted follower and technical family member of the murderer who gained infamy among friends, enemies and others for being a part of the Flying Pussyfoot incident several years past- who was, at this point in time, occupied with dealing with those who stood before her, a reddened blade in her left hand and a recently torn-off railing in her right.

Those who stood before her, namely, her victims, were a sextet of young females, the most of them being bloodied by the redhead's onslaught and all of them trying to defend themselves against their impromptu adversary. The Russo woman instantly set her sights on four of the victimized individuals, and, much to the shock of the first of the group of her targets, a silver-haired, red-eyed girl, she drew her right back, the railing along with it, and, a mere moment later, thrust it forward with a yell, the railing impaling both Red Eyes and those who stood with her, two black-haired individuals and one strawberry blond, ramming through all four of them and digging into the wall behind them, the Russo woman's attack being met only with brief cries of pain from the helpless quartet in response before they fell limp.

With a mutter of "Stay put" to the lifeless group of four, she then set her sights on the remaining two targets- a brown-haired woman and a raven-haired figure holding a sword in self defense. Despite their efforts to defend themselves, however, they, too, were beaten back, albeit with more resistance on their part than their companions, and the two were forced back and slumped against a wall after Yasha, now with her bloodied blade held by both hands, got the upper hand over her brown-haired victim, taking the opportunity to slash her across the chest and forcefully kick her into the aforementioned wall, and threw the raven-haired woman into both her ally and, once more, the wall, after a failed attack on her part. Yasha then moved in on the beaten-back pair, and struck down with her blade again, but the raven-haired figure, till managing to hold onto her own blade, blocked the blow- but was caught off-guard when the redhead then drew a blade concealed in her jacket's sleeve, and proceeded to run said weapon through the pair, leaving them slumped, unmoving, against the bloodied wall.

And, with this, Yasha Bellini Russo, panting heavily, turned away from the scene of carnage wrought by her hands, and carried on her crusade.

* * *

"Or, Carol," he said, accentuating his words in a staccato-like fashion, "what if the same applied to that other group of characters?"

"Well..."

"Or, _Carol_," he said, his one sagacious eye narrowing, "what of the others? There was a whole multitude of passengers on board the _Fair Lady_. Each had their own story to tell of the events that passed in that vessel. Use your wit!"

* * *

**October 12th, 1937.**

**Location: The _Fair Lady._**

Kyoko Nokogiri, bound, gagged and tied up to a chair in a compartment in the back of the luxurious vessel that was the _Fair Lady,_ stared with widened eyes at the shadowed figure that slowly approached her.

Said man was a young, grinning fellow, with a head of blond hair, strands of which fell over his face, dressed in an unblemished and immaculate set of white clothes from top to bottom, his attire topped off with ovular glasses that gleamed, almost maliciously, in the darkness. He paced towards the restrained girl, grinning like a shark as the tied-up Kyoko could only stare at him- and he did so with a pocket knife in hand.

And as he moved in on the girl, he said, in an accent with a thick German tone:

"What might you be doing here, Fraulein?"

Kyoko could only utter a muffled response, as the man in white came even closer, now tossing the blade he held and catching it repeatedly as he made his way towards her. Replying to the girl's muffled, unclear exclamation, he uttered, "No answer? Ah, well, no matter. However..."

Now in front of Kyoko, he stooped down to her eye level, narrowed his eyes, and said, darkly, "Muffled as your reply was, you sounded somewhat scared, don't you know? Well," he whispered, briefly pausing and widening his grin before continuing, "don't you worry about that..."

With this, he held the knife, shining ominously in the dark, up to the girl's face, and, giggling uncontrollably, stated in a loud and almost maniacal tone:

"The fun's only just started!"

* * *

Yet another pall of silence fell over the two, until Gustav took a few paces- having aged, he had a little less spring in his step, but he was able nonetheless- and leaned into Carol's face. "And, _Carol_..."

The teenage girl stuttered, and recoiled slightly upon seeing the vice-director's eye boring into hers. "Y-yes?"

"Have you taken into account any possible circumstances which might have caused that incident to happen, as well?"

"...I have", was the confident reply.

"Oh?"

"We don't know the motives of the second group," Carol stated, succinctly, "but I believe it was sparked off by revenge."

Gustav's tone held a level of intrigue to it. "Revenge?"

"That Russo woman- I remember that she had ties with a certain other in her family that was locked up in Alcatraz. Avenging his incarceration would be plausible..." She hesitated for a moment. "I know there are many other standpoints, vice-director, but this is what I believe is most likely."

"Go on..." Gustav uttered.

"As for main characters, they could have very well have been anyone on that airship. There was that woman's group, the others' unit, that German boy and Japanese girl, but..." She searched the surface of the table that she was still seated on for a fleeting instant, then hefted up a book, picking it out from the many mounds of books that lay strewn across the top of the item of furniture. She opened it quickly, skimmed through it just as quickly, then came across a certain article, promptly proceeding to indicate a picture, or rather, a group of figures in said picture, to her superior. Gustav peered at it, quizzically.

"These guys here. I reckon they're the main characters."

Still looking at the picture, analyzing it, especially the group that Carol had pointed out to him, which consisted of a man in a suit with a typewriter tucked under his arm, a young lad who held a case in one of his hands, and a few others (who all looked rather disheveled, he noted) Gustav said, "Why do you think that?"

"They just look like the kind of people who are unexpected heroes...you know? That situation needed heroes, and I think these few are those heroes. They look like the kind that can end up saving the day, in my opinion."

Gustav couldn't help but grin. He placed the book back on the table, and about-turned, exclaiming, "A good choice, Carol." Another pause.

"But!"

Carol was confused, "But, sir?"

"As a final question, ask yourself this- is it possible that, in this incident where purported revenge and heroism are abound...we are meticulously involved in what occurred back then?"

Carol recalled what she had been asked five years ago- the same question. Her answer was, "I honestly don't think so, vice-director...why do you ask?"

And, in response, the old Gustav Saint Germain smirked, almost devilishly, almost knowingly, just as he did all those years ago...

And the commotion from the past was about to commence.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Baccano!: Bedlam's Sojourn**_

Chapter 2: Bill Sullivan listens to fairy-tales halfway around the world.

_The commotion looms..._

**January 3rd, 1938.**

**Location: Lisbon, Portugal.**

It was mid-afternoon, with clear skies and a radiant sun, in the city of Lisbon, deep in the heart of Portugal. To many, it was the middle of a typical day, with the denizens of the city going about their respective businesses in the sunlit metropolis.

To a certain other who was currently residing in the city, however, the seemingly normal day- combined with most of the past two months- was not normal. This other had been separated from the world of normality for quite some time, being caught up in dealing with something that, over time, had proven itself to be most surreal, so much so that he had preoccupied himself with this aforementioned something that he had, in terms of his work, become detached from his normal job and what his duty often entailed.

This man was Bill Sullivan, a hardened detective hailing from the United States- New York, specifically. The something that he was so focused on was a case, but not any ordinary one, by any means. Indeed, so bizarre was the happening, and so sudden, that he, the majority of the detectives in the Portuguese police force, and even other investigators elsewhere overseas had been firmly captivated by it.

The case in question, too, was one concerning a luxury airship that, only three months to the present, had come crashing down by Portugal's coastline, a flaming wreck in a state of complete and irreversible disrepair, its outside being practically destroyed on impact. Survivors were found in lifeboats dotted in the water, and when Sullivan had heard about the state of the inside of the ship and looked at photographs detailing that state, he thought that it was miraculous that anyone had managed to survive whatever went on inside the airship at all.

These photos depicted a scene of total destruction and utter carnage, and many Portuguese officers, along with Sullivan, were astounded by there being anyone who lived through the chaos that happened inside the luxury vessel in the first place. They and Bill saw shattered windows, entire rooms and all that they contained torn to shreds, bloodied hallways, lifeless corpses scattered throughout the ship, discarded firearms left throughout the craft along with a handful of blades left lying, coated with blood, and all of this captured in black-and-white imagery.

With all of this, it was evidently clear that what happened inside the ship was nothing short of an unadulterated massacre. However, that was only one half of the case, and the half that was, obviously, instantly understandable.

The other half, the one that, conversely, was decisively _not _immediately understandable, and the one that Sullivan was immersed in, was _how _the bloodbath occurred.

For every time Sullivan reviewed the scenes of carnage that he had witnessed through those photographs, he made the same conclusions- namely, that any gunfight, no matter how violent, would have to go to incredibly extreme lengths to even come close to result in something similar to how the state of interior of the airship had become. He also deduced that, even with as many blades as there were left discarded about the vessel, no one swordsman could shed that much blood. What was more, certain bodies that had been rather brutally assaulted showed that they had been subjected to neither sword strikes or bullet salvoes; rather, they had been savaged by raw physical strength.

Taking all of this into consideration, Sullivan consistently found himself running into dead ends in trying to find out who perpetrated this atrocity, and the Portuguese police had no better luck either. With what scant clues there were at the scene of the crime leading Sullivan and his co-operators nowhere, interviewing the survivors of the ordeal had to be carried out. Over the last few months, a handful of passengers had been interviewed about the incident, and they had been asked for their eyewitness accounts. In the beginning, however, even these hadn't gotten Sullivan and his team of co-workers far, with many, the incident still being fresh in their memories, being hesitant or unwilling to answer, and what info they did provide didn't aid the investigators in the slightest.

However, today, that was to change.

* * *

Inside where Detective Bill Sullivan was currently residing, this place being a police station in central Lisbon, the American man was presently starting to question another survivor, one of three up for questioning.

As Sullivan sat down on his side of a table in an interrogation room, he couldn't help but think that the first person he was to question, who calmly took his own seat, was a little odd. This person was a smirking, squat, portly man dressed in clothes of an immaculate bleach-white colour, small, plump and unprepossessing, with a head of blond hair that almost fell over his left eye, donning spectacles that seemed to gleam almost maliciously, even in the well-lit interrogation room. Sullivan was instantly wary of this fellow- he gave off an air of malevolence through his very appearance alone, and the detective already had suspicions about the man. Still, Sullivan did not let his suspicions get the better of him, and commenced the questioning with the common question of:

"Your name, please."

The man in white's smirk widened, and he answered, rather suavely, in a distinctive German accent, "Max, detective. And, you?"

"Bill Sullivan", the American man replied. Continuing, and still eyeing this 'Max' warily, he said, "Now, you're here for necessary questioning related to what happened on the Fair Lady, of which you were a passenger according to records. We need information from you and other passengers in order to help us in our endeavour to solve this case. Specifically, me and my colleagues require an eyewitness account from you, so if you could tell me what you witnessed during the event..."

"All too willing to oblige, Mr. Sullivan!", Max uttered, somewhat . "Always _nice _to aid those in need, isn't it? Your profession and ties to the law demand it...but, just as they demand that, they demand my testimony, yes? Now...I'll start from the beginning."

Sullivan then procured a notebook and a pen, readied himself, and went back to eyeing Max, still warily, stating, "Tell me what you know."

"Of course."

And with his face still bearing a smirk, and clasping his hands, Max began to tell his tale.

* * *

"Now, before hell broke loose, detective, the day of boarding and much of the sojourn themselves were...normal, simply put. Despite the fanfare of the former and the luxury of the latter, things were trite, humdrum, uneventful", Max said- with him putting emphasis on his last few words, Sullivan noted. "I was merely interested in returning to Germany."

"For what reasons, may I ask?", Sullivan inquired.

"Reasons, detective, that will forever remain unknown to you", Max answered, in a forward manner. "Orders, you see?"

"Orders...?"

Max gave a small nod, then moved on, not addressing Sullivan's somewhat confused statement any longer. "That was all I was interested in. So I spent the majority of the flight in a state of boredom, you see." He then paused, briefly, as if to remember something, and then continued with, "I wasn't, however, entirely without something to entertain me."

"And what did "entertain" you in your apparent period of apathy, your case of the doldrums?"

"I became acquainted with a Japanese girl. She provided decent company during my mostly prosaic voyage."

At this point, a thought entered Sullivan's mind, one that rather alarmed the man.

_A Japanese girl? That fits the description of one of the other two people up for questioning...could she be...?_

Following this thought, Sullivan then asked of the German man, "Her name?"

"I called her Cuon."

"...I'm sorry?"

"Oh, just a nickname I used for her. So much so in fact," Max admitted with a brief chuckle, "that, to me, the moniker has become the name, it seems! But, that aside, she was just about my only decent company on my platitudinous journey. However..."

Sullivan arched an eyebrow. "However, yes?"

"The situation", Max stated, his eyes widening slightly along with his smirk, which evolved into a small and strangely eerie grin, and his tone changing into something much more lively in nature, "transformed into something a little more..._interesting_...as time passed."

Concerned, now, about the abrupt change in both Max's expression and tone, the American detective asked, with a degree of evident cautiousness in his voice, jotting down notes all the while, "Care to further explain?"

"Well, detective," Max said, speaking his words with what Sullivan understood as a degree of distinct _pleasure_, his tone being suddenly much different from the one he had employed to recall the beginnings of his story, with this second shift in the German's tone, from liveliness to an unnerving sense of delight, managing to disturb even a man as experienced as Sullivan in the process, "it was around halfway into the sojourn when things piqued my interest. It was a truly out of the blue occurrence, and one that made the trip a lot more...eventful in my eyes."

"What exactly happened?"

"A disturbance", Max said, still with the same, pleasured tone. "Caused by a group of people dressed in white, and led by a woman who certainly had _fire _in her. They started off the chaos- took captives, caused some destruction here and there, had fun with their lead-spewing toys...unfortunately," Max said, his tone changing to one that was melancholic in pitch, but mocking in nature, "some of the passengers died in the initial gunfight."

Trying his best not to refrain from commenting on the complete disregard the man showed for the lives lost in the incident, Sullivan questioned, picking up on what Max said last, already having a hint even from when he examined the photographs that some force more malignant than mere thugs was behind all of this, "The initial gunfight?"

"There was a retaliation by several armed passengers soon after chaos broke out. I'm not sure why they sprung up", Max admitted. "Perhaps they saw the people in white as an obstacle in the way of something they themselves were trying to achieve, maybe they were simply resisting to try to get rid of the danger that the figures in white posed, or..."

As Sullivan himself pondered on why supposed normal civilians would contribute to the fracas, he asked, "Go on?"

The German's tone shifted back into the delightful one that he once spoke in. "They _may _have just joined in for the fun of it."

Again, repulsed by the man's demeanour, Sullivan once more tried to hold back on addressing the way Max spoke, noticing that the German was showing a distinct and disturbing sense of pleasure- _love?- _for what transpired aboard the airship, and for what he had described. Jotting down yet more notes and eyeing Max more cautiously than before, he inquired, "In the midst of these events, did anything else occur that you noticed?"

"Well, detective," Max said, "I believe that I shall...answer that question with a question."

Max then unclasped his hands and crossed his arms, stared at the detective, and said, his slight grin evolving into a wider one:

"Have you ever heard of valkyries, Mr. Sullivan?"

Sullivan, certainly not expecting such a ludicrous and off-topic question, could only look at the German man, bemused, and state back, "Pardon?"

"Valkyries, detective!", Max exclaimed, with an almost joyful inflection in his voice, despite the overall tone of his voice remaining unchanged. "Shieldmaidens, servants of Odin, those who determine the victors of battles, of wars, and those who select the most heroic warriors of those who die in battle in preparation for further conflict!" He paused to gather breath, and looked at Sullivan with an almost mad gleam in his spectacle-framed eyes. "Have you ever heard of them, detective?"

Sullivan found himself rather taken aback by how passionate this man sounded when answering his inquiry, and with such an awkward phrase, no less, but he still answered Max's peculiar inquiry. "Well, even with your, er, helpful and flowery description, I do know that they were mythological warrior women- why are you bringing them up in here, of all places, though, and what, if any relation do they have to this case?"

"I am bringing them up, detective," Max stated, still grinning widely, madly, like the Cheshire Cat, "because they are who I eventually saw aboard that ship."

Sullivan now reckoned that, along with having a callous apathy and neglect for the lives lost in the chaos only a few months ago, seeing the whole incident as a sportive and jocular thing from the way he spoke about it, the German man was eccentric, irregular, and quite detached from the real world, if the part-flippant, part-mirthful way he talked about the happening hadn't been already enough to give the American detective an idea that the German was rather _curious_. Finding it hard to reply back to Max's aberrant statement, Sullivan hesitated for a moment, and then said, in a stringent tone, "You..._are _aware that this isn't the time or place for spouting nonsense?"

Max looked at Sullivan, quizzically. "You accuse me of telling a falsification, detective?"

"I don't see any possibility as to how _valkyries_, of all things-"

"I do not lie, detective!", Max said, slightly raising his hands, still with that grin plastered upon his face. "Odin's acolytes made themselves known, and very much so- slightly after halfway through the excursion, in fact...women in white, detective."

Sullivan paused to register what had been said, and then asked, taking notes, for, despite how strange, bluntly, the German man was, what he said offered something new to the case, "And...these were your purported "valkyries"?

Max nodded, slowly. "Yes, detective. Around thirty in number, all angelic, wrapped in robes of a lily-white tint...and all doing their duty."

Sullivan was slightly confused, and asked, whilst being prudent, "'Duty'?"

"It is the charge of any valkyrie, as I have said, detective, to choose who will win or die in any battle, to bring the brave chosen to the hall of the slain. And it seems, here," Max said, letting out a small chuckle, "that many were destined to perish, and that surprisingly few were chosen to come out alive. They tore through the decks, you see!"

Sullivan recalled a few of the photos he had looked at, which pictured entire rooms torn to shreds. He was in no way convinced, however, that these "valkyries", as Max had put them, could rip through whole areas of the vessel and leave behind such carnage as he had seen in the photographs, and asked, still sceptical of Max's incredulous claims, "You are..._certain _of this?"

"Most certain" said Max, assuredly. "Through their divine act, they swept through the vessel like a raging storm, detective, carrying out the will of their master, brutally felling almost all who stood in their way, leaving _few _alive...and I, of course, was one of those graced with the gift of survival. Graced, detective!"

"I...see", said Sullivan, after a moment's pause, taking down further notes. "Aside from all you mentioned...did you see anything else? What happened to those 'normal' passengers you mentioned, or the gangsters dressed in white or their leader, or, indeed, these 'valkyries' of yours?"

"No doubt many of the white-suits and their opponents were lost in the havoc, detective; however, I know not of the fate of the red-haired woman, nor of the maidens dressed in white. All I do know in the end, detective, is that I survived- graced, I tell you!"

"Yes, I understand that...now, do you have anything else you can contribute to this case?"

Max shook his head. "I am afraid not, detective. What I have told you," he said, still smirking, "is I all that I can tell you."

"I see...then, if that's all, please-"

"But I will say it again, graced, detective!", said Max, suddenly bursting into a loud and animated fit of zeal that took aback the American inspector, the German's Chesire grin evolving further into a smile, with the American being disturbed by this and further disturbed as Max entered a frenzied tirade. "Through surviving, I am considered a hero...spared for future warfare! And the valkyries, through their appearance, have sent a message, detailing that conflict and carnage looms on the horizon, far more bloodier and grand than what has transpired recently! They have sounded the trumpets of war, Mr. Sullivan- I know this, and am sure of-"

Sullivan roughly coughed, interrupting Max's rant, being too disturbed by the man's frantic bombast to allow him to continue. "If that is _all_, please take your leave. I do have others to speak with."

"Ah. Well, then, detective," Max said, rising from his seat, "I do hope that what I have given you..._aids _you. Apologies, too, for that little...outburst, Mr. Sullivan. Too caught up in the moment...!"

Max then broke into yet another fit of chuckling, as Sullivan replied, as sternly as he could, "I, uh...hope the same, too. Thank you."

At this, Max turned, and, waving goodbye to the American detective, exited the room- and Sullivan heaved a sigh of relief. He had been given information, but, overall, he was just glad to no longer be in the presence of a madman.

* * *

The second person Sullivan was to question surprised the detective, because of his identity.

Upon the person's entrance into the interrogation room, Sullivan had near-instantly recognized the fellow, a brown-eyed man with neat, raven-black hair, dressed in rather casual clothing, topped off with a long-sleeved coat and a fedora, as renowned journalist Karl Rhodes, a writer in the employ of the famed Daily Days newspaper company. In return, Karl had simply given a normal response- "Pleasure to meet you, despite these circumstances"- for Karl Rhodes was a man who preferred to act in a normal fashion, despite his position in the world of journalism.

Upon taking his seat, Sullivan started the process over, turning to a new page in his notebook, readying his pen, and saying, "Now, about the incident...we need an account from you detailing what happened, in your eyes, aboard the vessel. So, if you would offer what you saw..."

"Gladly", stated the journalist, in a forward and to-the-point manner- he was such by nature, for any journalist had to adopt such a trait to get ahead in the world after all, and this was also a trait of his that was present in the numerous articles that he had written for the Daily Days. He leaned forward, cleared his throat, and said:

"I'd like to start with a little bit of background, as it were, firstly. I was on board the airship because I was on an errand to go to France and meet up with a work partner- we had business to do there, you see. I didn't pay much attention to the hubbub going on inside the ship, or the other passengers. I just wanted, at the time, to have a simple, usual, normal journey to my destination. I got a few glances from others, no doubt they knew me, and I heard one or two hushed whispers, but I maintained a low profile. I didn't want any disruption during my flight. Of course, however," Karl continued, his tone unchanging, "my want wasn't to be granted."

"So, then," Sullivan queried, "in light of your desire for stillness being foiled, what did you see around the time of the happening itself?"

"Near halfway into the journey, I heard noises from the deck below mine- I was on the third deck, you see. There was shouting, followed by reports of gunfire mixed with screams. Some bullets also erupted through the floor of the deck I was in, no doubt a tactic used by some of the mobsters to intimidate the passengers I was with.

Now, around me was an air of total chaos, bedlam and the like. I, however, was intrigued by this, and took it upon myself to venture below to the second deck to have an on-sight look at the unfolding situation. From what I managed to witness, I glanced a group of people in white suits taking control of the second deck, amidst several dead passengers and a general air of turmoil and disarray. One of them was a red-headed woman, wielding a pair of swords, who I pinpointed as the leader of the pack- she was issuing orders to those around her, telling them to secure the other two decks." All the while, Sullivan was following along, noting down the key elements of Karl's concise notes...

...until what Karl said next, however, made his writing and his train of thought suddenly screech to a halt.

"She also said something about Ladd Russo."

This statement alarmed Sullivan, for he, and many of his colleagues, and many, many others serving as the arm of the law, knew this man. He was renowned as a notorious assassin in the employ of the Russo family, and was one of the progenitors of the incident aboard the Flying Pussyfoot several years ago, for which he ended up imprisoned in Alcatraz. He was also considered by many, with valid reason, to be a complete psychopath due to the man's sadistic tendencies- Sullivan often recalled the image of him lying by snow-covered tracks, grinning like a lunatic and brandishing the bloodied stump of his left hand at him, his partner Donald Brown, and other fellow officers, all the while showing no signs of registering any pain, and also whilst saying to the girl by his side- _Lua Klein, was it?- _that he would kill her on the spot, and that was enough to convince Sullivan that he was deranged, if him planning to cause a killing spree on a crowded train wasn't already convincing enough. Having an inkling through Karl's hint that the red-haired woman was either a member of the man's family or a devoted fanatic of the maniac, Sullivan's mind was instantly cluttered with a variety of thoughts, of questions. _What will be the outcome of this investigation now that Russo has been brought into the picture? Where will this statement lead this conversation? What __**is **__the role of that red-haired swordswoman...?_

He remained silent for a while longer, thinking of all the queries that raced through his head, when he finally selected one of them out of the plethora that crowded his mind.

"What was it that she said about him?"

"I'm afraid that I didn't catch all of what she said," Karl admitted, "but she did mention Ladd's situation- she sounded quite determined to do something about it, I might add."

Another thought clicked inside Sullivan, one that alarmed him even further.

_Wanting to 'make amends' to the situation of that Russo man...could that possibly mean..._

Internally, Sullivan blanched.

_She intended to deal with the situation of that Russo man, purportedly...did she mean to do so through taking the entire vessel hostage and then challenge authorities, pressing for his release? And, reportedly, her group killed passengers...did they intend to further press their demands by slaughtering as many occupants as they pleased...? Twisted..._

"That aside, though," Karl said, bringing Sullivan out of his immersion into his thoughts and back into reality, "as mentioned, along with the leader mentioning Ladd, the order went out for them to take control of the two other decks. As a result...I was rather unlucky."

"Unlucky...?", Sullivan asked somewhat hesitantly, as a part of him was still firmly glued to thinking about the involvement of Ladd Russo in the incident.

"Well, I was eavesdropping on their conversation from a nearby staircase- a foolish move on my part, for I was soon spotted by one of the red-head's...fedora-wearing toughs, as it were, and immediately pummelled, apprehended, and brought to the woman in short order. Now, I stress this, she _was _going to skewer me on the spot...I did repeatedly tell her that I was merely concerned about what was going on, to no avail, and then, well...she laid eyes on a small bag I was carrying."

"Saving grace, was it?"

"I'd say so", said Karl with certainty. "It bore the emblem of the Daily Days company. Convenient...but live-saving nonetheless. However, I was not spared some form of an unpleasant fate, and, with them deeming me to be of some value of them because of my position, they captured me and imprisoned me in the ship's kitchen. I was under armed supervision...and, periodically, I heard gunshots from outside, sporadic in timing."

Acting upon instinct, Sullivan immediately asked, in the face of this revelation, "Were they...?"

"Killing off passengers in scattered instances?", replied Karl, questioning Sullivan's remark. "Most likely, if they indeed were trying to do something about the situation of Ladd."

_A detail that that crazy German man didn't mention..._

"So, I was in captivity, listening to those shots and under armed guard, when, some time later, a while into the flight, another white-suit acting as a courier told my guard that I was next in line to have a bullet between my eyes, when luck graced me again- I heard a ruckus from outside, more gunshots, in rapid succession instead of at random intervals. I don't know what caused it, but I assume that it was because of resistance. My to-be executor left, and, because of that, I was free to leave my culinary prison. I did remain in there a while longer, however," Karl admitted, "to be safe."

"Quite the ordeal you've been through, then", Sullivan said, pointedly. "Then, in the aftermath of these events you've described, what occurred next?"

"Well, what awaited outside the kitchen was a scene of chaos- a ruined deck, dead bodies, and cowering passengers- and sounds of gunfire still reverberated throughout the ship. It was then that I also caught sight of the resistors- a group of men dressed in rather casual clothing toting Tommy guns. At first, I was held up by them, but...I was eventually taken into the group- and it made for a good experience to write about.

So, I stayed with the group...got to know the leader, an apparent barkeep, his name eludes me, though...participated in little insurgencies against the white-suits...and around half an hour after my escape, the power shut off."

Sullivan stopped scribbling on his notepad briefly, and said, with a look of ever so slight surprise on his face, "A blackout in the middle of the voyage? And that would require someone to elude the crew..."

The detective then recalled the photos he had looked at, and the bloody mess that they had depicted.

_If not just cut right through them..._

"Well, no doubt some clever sleuth managed to do just that. When it happened, we were back on the third deck...and that was mere moments before they came around."

"They?", Sullivan questioned, probing. "Care to elaborate further?"

"They were a group of people dressed in the same white clothing as the starters of this caper. Because of this, I personally believe that the group was a rival branch of the same gang. Along with this, I did see, on a couple of occasions, members of the first being felled by members of the second..."

"Why is it that you reckon this?", said Sullivan with curiosity and with Max's rant of "valkyries" now hovering about inside his mind.

"Well, my opinion is that the second group of the main gang didn't like the fact that the first group had struck first, and so...they proceeded to mutilate and butcher anyone and anything that stood in their way with such brutality that it's...frankly indescribable. They were really out for blood, simply put. They tore though passengers and members of the resistance band like a hot knife through a slab of butter. I and others only remained alive by concealing ourselves under passenger seats.

After this," Karl uttered, after pausing for a moment, "we essentially fought to stay alive in the midst of this fracas, until an evacuation was performed...with the aid of the red-head, surprisingly enough."

Sullivan, looking as if a curveball had been thrown at him, retorted, "She..._aided _you?"

"It was certainly unexpected," Karl confessed, and with a perfunctory chuckle, "but she did hold off the majority of the second group, allowing us to escape the ship...and, well...I'm afraid that's all I can tell you, detective."

Sullivan took a short while to answer, still comprehending the possibility of a killer and a gang member helping passengers escape, and then said, "Well you've...certainly told me a lot, nonetheless. There's no doubt that what you've divulged will help us in our investigation."

"It's been a pleasure helping you, then," Karl said. "May I take my leave?"

Sullivan nodded, and Karl promptly departed, leaving Sullivan behind as more thoughts whirled about inside his head. With the possibility of an internal feud on the cards, and the supposed involvement of Ladd Russo in the incident, for Sullivan, the situation only got a whole lot more confusing.

* * *

The third and final person Sullivan was to question fidgeted in her seat, nervously looking about the room and rubbing her arms, showing signs of being anxious and distressed.

This person was a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl, clad in a red dress, named Kyoko Nokogiri, one of the youngest passengers of the vessel. She was also clearly uncomfortable, as Sullivan himself noted, at being in the situation he was in, and Sullivan took the time to address that issue.

"I know you're not feeling well about being here...but you're still required to tell me what you saw."

"I..." Kyoko's response was a hesitant one, only followed up on after a moderate pause. "I don't feel like talking about this at all, you know..."

"I understand that," replied the American detective, knowingly, "but it is still a necessity that you give an eyewitness account of the event." He paused, and then said, "Or, at least, give me what you can", trying to offer a titbit of advice.

"I really don't want to talk about this, still...", Kyoko responded, ill at ease, "but...I suppose I'll try...ugh...well, boarding was normal...I didn't pay attention to the crowds, or anything like that, outside the ship, nor did I pay attention to the fanciness inside...everything else wasn't out of the ordinary..." She paused, and then backtracked, going back on herself. "Well, except for one thing..."

"And that was?"

"This...German man", she said, saying these words with distinct distaste. "The one that was outside, actually..."

Realizing what she meant, Sullivan then commented, "So you're 'Cuon', are you?"

Kyoko suddenly visibly paled at the mention of this name, and her expression morphed into one of blatant shock. "H-He told you about that moniker...?!"

Sullivan was somewhat astonished by this sudden outburst. "Is it problematic...?"

"It...it's annoying! He came up with that out of the blue, never stopped calling me that...that and 'Fraulein'...it's..."

"Would you like to move on?", Sullivan suggested?

"Y-Yes...", Kyoko said, calming down. "I met with him, that...that war junkie...and we formed a bond, I suppose, or whatever else would be similar to that. We talked for a while, and the most of the flight was rather uneventful...boring, really. Then, around halfway in, a woman in white started causing a riot with some companions of hers. Let off some shots, killed some passengers, and me and the German junkie..." She paused again, hesitating. "We...hid ourselves under a table. The junkie was enjoying what was going on, and I was...trying to remain level-headed and trying to keep him under control as well- he was just itching to go out there...I could tell by the look on his face alone.

So there was gunfire, screams...and then silence. The woman and her companions probably took control of the deck in those few short moments. It was...lucky...that the German junkie and I weren't spotted...they probably didn't think to search under tables for other people to kill..."

A thought passed through Sullivan's head.

_Max certainly didn't tell me about this...then again, he's not the type who would tell anyone whether or not he spent any time hiding or cowering somewhere..._

"And then, not long after that, some other guys dressed in normal clothes sprung up and tried to fight back...some of the people in white went upstairs, because that was where the problem for them started, and because of less people being on the lookout...the junkie then decided to up and leave, despite my protests...he wanted to join the fun, no doubt...I decided to go after him, and..."

Kyoko then stopped, abruptly, prompting Sullivan, who, once again, had ceased note-taking, to inquire, "And?"

"I..." Kyoko now spoke with difficulty, having trouble putting forward what she wanted to say. "There was an incident that happened that I..._really _don't wish to talk about", she said, with emphasis on her words- extreme at that.

"Once more," Sullivan reminded her, "you do have to divulge what you know-"

"I can't talk about it!", Kyoko exclaimed, cutting Sullivan off in the process. "It's just..._that _unpleasant, you know?"

"Does it have anything to do with that German man?"

"I just don't want to talk about it!", Kyoko repeated at this, in a higher voice and with more intensity. Sullivan, seeing that the girl was determined to, indeed, not talk about it, sighed and conceded to her demand, and said, "Very well. Then, after this...incident, that you mentioned...can you recall what happened afterwards?"

Kyoko, now somewhat agitated, said, "It's...really all hazy after that, all right? I'm...I'm not faking, it's the truth! After my search for the junkie, all I can remember...aside from _that_...and other small details, minor, insignificant ones...is...naked women..."

Sullivan, startled, exclaimed, "Excuse me?"

"Naked women! Running around the ship in robes, and...a-and killing people! And a clown, as well!"

Even more bemused- though intrigued, too, by the fact that no-one had yet mentioned this 'clown- Sullivan said, "A...clown?"

"Walking around in a performer's suit, holding a hammer..."

"Do you...know anything about her?"

"N-No! Why would I?! Other than, for whatever reason, she was fighting those naked people...I don't know why, she just was!"

"I see", Sullivan stated, still being intrigued and somewhat perplexed by Kyoko's statements. "Now, is there anything else-"

"No!", Kyoko suddenly bleated, but she quickly regained her composure and said, in a calmer, less wired tone, "No...that...that's it, really. I know, little info, whatever, but...that's all I can offer." Even with her now calmer tone, Sullivan could tell that she was still anxious, and nodded in understanding.

"What you've given me will still help this investigation, even still", Sullivan said. Kyoko nodded in acknowledgement, then said:

"May I...may I leave, then?"

Sullivan agreed to her request, and Kyoko hurriedly left the room soon after.

With the last of the questioning sessions over, Sullivan had collected crucial information from his interviewees- and had learned of several new things in the process. But even with all of this newly-acquired info, the case was still, ultimately, a confusing one.

And, with this in mind, Bill Sullivan leaned back in his chair and sighed once more, wondering just how long the case would go on for, even with the aid of fresh information, before the curtain finally fell upon it.

* * *

_White-suits and a fiery leader, a resistance band, Valkyries, a rival branch, and other suggestions pop up- but what is the real truth behind these fairy tales that have been told? The commotion commences..._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Baccano!: Bandit's Sojourn**_

Chapter 3: Those Selected by Fate Converge as the Fair Lady Triumphantly Departs- Open Air

_The commotion commences..._

**September 25th, 1938.**

**Battery Park, New York City.**

It was a grand, glorious gathering.

In southern New York City, Battery Park, to be precise, there was a hustle unlike any other. Along the waterfront, a gargantuan crowd, immeasurable in number, had gathered to witness the commencing of a certain event that had drawn each and every one of them to the park on this cold yet bright September afternoon. It was an event that was heavily publicized through any means available, from posters to newspapers, and it was one that people from all walks of life attended, profession, colour, creed and status being of no importance. And as well as being these, it was a landmark- for this event had carved itself its own place in history.

The reason it was such was because this event marked something notable, very much so, and had gained distinction, both genuinely special and dubious. The reason as to why this event had garnered these varying types of fame was a simple one- it was entirely due to what this special circumstance was. This, namely, was the ceremony of the launching of an airship, and not any run of the mill example of such a vessel, either. It was a ship christened with the name "Fair Lady", and why the craft was not any ordinary one was because of what company manufactured it, which was also the cause for it getting its first type of fame.

The manufacturer was Nebula, a long-standing company formerly headed by the renowned Carl Muybridge, which, over the many years since its foundation, due to, in no small part, Muybridge's stellar tactical strategies for the company, had spread its tendrils to almost every field of business imaginable- agriculture, book publishing, insurance, chemical engineering and, more recently, research and development of military equipment, and it continued to flourish and expand under the guidance of his successor, Karl Mavris. It also had ties to the transport sector, and, as a result, in order to make the most of the company's relation with said sector, Mavris had decided to have his company perform something previously undone, moving it into uncharted territory; to carry out the construction of an airship, to both aid the air transport sector and to give passengers a truly enjoyable travelling experience, for Karl Mavris was a man who aimed to please.

This was also the reason for the event garnering the second kind of fame it received- it was an airship, and the cataclysmic tragedy that was the Hindenburg disaster, which had only occurred only just over a mere year ago, was still fresh in the minds of many, including employees of Nebula, and in the weeks leading up to the launch of this newly commissioned vessel, many people, especially reporters from such prestigious papers as the New York Times and Daily Days, had expressed growing concern and even fear for the day when the Fair Lady would disembark on its maiden voyage with many expecting a repeat of the catastrophe that befell the Hindenburg, and, despite repeated reassurances from Mavris himself with regards to his and his company's scheme, ensuring many time and time again that nothing could go wrong, no tragedy would occur, and that there was not even the slightest possibility of any error manifesting, they did have reason.

But, despite the worry, fear and doubt, the Fair Lady was nevertheless constructed, unimpeded by the concerns of others, and here it stood in front of the gathered masses, a sleek, rigid midnight blue titan that truly dwarfed any of its predecessors, its sheer size giving an obvious hint as to how many passengers could gather within it, with an evidently capacious gondola for the crew, for the passenger decks were internalized, attached to the vessel's underside, with a third striking feature, this being the Nebula emblem emblazoned on the tail fin, suspended above the body of water over which it hung motionless by a mooring mast and having a walkway of sorts leading up to it from the waterfront, both constructed for this occasion.

And along this elongated walkway, in the very midst of the hubbub and in the centre of the shuffling swarm of onlookers, walked the privileged passengers of the grand vessel, progressing towards the entrance of the ship at the walkway's end in a slow-moving procession. They were given less attention by the surrounding crowd than the ship itself, for, indeed, many had come to bear witness to the ship and not to its to-be occupants, but they were, at the least, eye-catching, for they were the honoured and advantaged handful destined to ride within the confines of the ovular beast that lay before them.

And, much like the aforementioned airship, the throng of passengers had a special air to it, formed through the presence of a few remarkable individuals.

* * *

The first of these individuals was remarkable for two reasons.

The first reason was how sheerly ordinary he looked when compared to the crowd surrounding him from all sides. Whereas the majority of those around him were clad in vibrant and no doubt expensive livery, this man, in contrast, was garbed in a simple suit and overcoat, topped off with a plain fedora perched atop his head at a slanted angle, serving to shadow his eyes and the most of the upper half of his face.

The second reason was because of who and what this man was under his standard, plaid appearance.

Who he was was Karl Rhodes, and what he was was a reporter for the renowned Daily Days newspaper company. He wasn't any usual reporter by any set of standards, however- this man, this Karl Rhodes, was a most prolific member of the company, having written numerous articles on equally numerous incidents around the world with his distinct to-the-point style of writing, and he quickly rose to fame upon publishing an article of the infamous incident that occurred aboard the luxury train known as the Flying Pussyfoot almost a decade ago, discussing the incident and the various factions involved in depth and debating over the true culprits, and also pondering over the existence of the entity known as the 'Rail Tracer'- having obtained information on it when he had met with a survivor of the incident who he could only now recall as a woman clad in deep green working clothes who had been rather reluctant to divulge what information she had.

However, following this rather sudden rise to fame, Karl had attained something of a celebrity status, something that he came to dislike intensely, and, as a result, he took to disguising himself as best he could whenever he undertook outings, with this occasion being a prime example of one such outing- hence, the reason for his decidedly normal choice of clothing.

Already, as Karl moved onwards amidst the sea of fellow passengers, and already sticking out grossly due to his rather bland attire, being an icon of plainness in a swarming mass of flair and pomp, he felt that many had cast glances his was, and, indeed, he was correct- many curious onlookers had looked upon the man in the plain suit and fedora, with many commenting on his appearance, their remarks unheard by the man himself. A few others, however, had questioned who was hiding under that fedora's brim and his distinctly unglamorous appearance, and were intrigued by the thought of who he possibly was.

Karl himself, while unaware of the whispers being directed at him, certainly detected glances, at the least, thrown his way on his end by various onlookers, and, as he usually did, proceeded to shrug them off. And, as he progressed towards the vessel that loomed before him, one singular thought was present inside his mind:

_I damn well hope I'll go undisturbed._

This was a thought that continued to circulate repeatedly within the confines of his mind as he made his way amidst the swarm towards the colossal airship, shuffling along with the ranks of the rich and the influential.

It was also one that persisted, even as, after a lengthy and rather irritating slog through the mass of those who lived in the lap of relative luxury, he reached the ticket master, who was, for the most part, preoccupied with idly registering each new arrival- that was, of course, until he caught sight of the aberration clad in plain clothing.

Karl's disguise, while often effective, was not always impervious; indeed, though he had generally avoided harassment many a time in the past, he had earned his fair share of run-ins with people who had managed to see past his often homely outward appearance and who had subsequently bombarded him with a slew of questions, much to his chagrin. This aforementioned ticket master was one of them, for he had briefly glimpsed what could be seen of Karl's visage underneath the fedora that served to mask his face from view.

Karl, however, from experience with such folk, reacted swiftly, knowing that he'd been glimpsed, and the ticket master barely had the chance to utter "Excuse me, sir, I have a question-", before Karl strode quickly over to him and hurriedly hushed him, telling him, to the point, in a stern tone:

"Don't call me out in a place like this, kid." He briefly motioned to the teeming multitude of people behind him which began to shuffle past him, and then continued with, "Do you really want to attract attention to me here? I've already been given enough glances as it is."

He paused a moment, and took a look at the ticket master's face, which now bore a rather apologetic and somewhat downcast expression, and then sighed at the sight, proceeding to hastily retract his previous statements. "Eh, sorry...I just don't want to be bothered. I know you wanted to ask a simple question- right?"

The ticket master nodded, somewhat meekly, saying in response, "Yes, just...if you don't mind me asking, are you really Ka-"

The journalist was quick to cut off the young man again, but his tone was not an annoyed one. Even so, Karl hurried his words, speaking in a whisper so as not to alert unaware others to his identity, wanting to board the airship as soon as humanly possible. "Yes, I am- Rhodes, the man himself, you name it." He paused once more, thinking of what to add on briefly, and said, "I obviously can't talk now, though," in an attempt to appease the young man, for it was doubtless that he had a desire to properly converse with him, "maybe later. For now, though, I need to board, since I'm on an important errand, so...could you save it for later?"

The ticket master, suddenly beaming, nodded once again, and his reply reflected his new-found satisfaction. "Of course! When I have time, that is, but...I'd be glad to!"

With that, Karl returned a small nod in affirmation, turned away, and merged once again with the crowd behind him, entering the vessel, and heaving a heavy sigh of relief in the process.

* * *

Karl was not the only notable face in the crowd, too.

The second of the many remarkable people that lingered among the crowd was a whole different man from the aforementioned journalist. He was a short, portly and unassuming man, bespectacled, with a head of eye-catching blond hair, dressed in attire that appeared to be oddly militaristic in design. At first glance, this man was decidedly normal, with only his clothing and facial appearance being likely to garner any attention.

Anyone who properly knew this man, however, knew otherwise.

This man, a German fellow going by the name of Maximillian, was about as far from the mere concept of being normal as anyone could get, certainly so in regards to his state of mind, for behind a mask of relative normalcy lay the fevered mind of a madman of the highest order, a lunatic by every measure conceivable, and a man who had a very limited grasp of the idea of sanity- many people who knew him were all too aware of this. However, no-one who didn't know him, despite all of this, could infer that the man was deranged in the slightest, and if anyone who didn't know him happened to be informed that he was mad, they wouldn't understand why.

Quite _why _he wasn't sound of mind could be attributed one main reason- he was addicted to the thought of war, and that was something that he was eager to show at any given opportunity or even entirely at random, so immersed was he in the mere idea of conflict and destruction. To add to this, in his native land, this crazed being had a position in the upper echelons of the German military, a fact that made even _more _people, namely his subordinates and superiors, wary of him, and a fact that allowed him to put whatever twisted plans he concocted inside his equally twisted mind into practice- or, at the very least, suggest his schemes, for the grand majority of his plans were often so utterly morbid that even his companions rejected them.

Of course, no-one around him presently knew that he was unhinged, nor that he was a military man, even though his clothing said the opposite. Even so, and almost in spite of his somewhat normal appearance, he managed to radiate an aura that was outright malicious, something that he developed through his unrivalled adoration of strife and warfare.

It was this aura, when the German had reached the end of the shuffling column of passengers, that the ticket master noticed, and as the blonde man sidled by him, he immediately eyed him with intense suspicion. This glance, however, did not go unnoticed, as the German man stopped dead in his tracks and turned his head to look at him. The ticket master visibly shuddered out of fear at the glance he received, and the fact that the man was suddenly grinning for no readily apparent reason didn't help matters. The ticket master stood in abject silence, and, in contrast, the German queried, in an interested, curious and eerily jocose tone:

"Is there something wrong?"

The ticket master initially stuttered, searching for a reply to this man who frankly disturbed him, and eventually sputtered out a simple "Not at all!" before lapsing back into awkward silence once again.

In response, the grinning German man simply looked at the ticket master inquisitively for a fleeting moment, and replied, still with out-of-place merriment, "Are you certain? You look...ill at ease. If I do say so myself, of course."

Another period of odd silence passed between the two, briefly hanging over them like a shroud, tangible, almost, only broken when the German abruptly leaned forward, still grinning, and asked, curious, "Are you ill at ease, then?", and the young ticket master's offered the same reaction as a reply- nervously repeating "Not at all!", accompanied by him frantically shaking his head from side to side, for he was pining beyond all else to hastily finish his conversation with this man who so unnerved him by appearance alone, adding "Everything's, er, fine!" as an afterthought, in order to placate this figure and prevent him from questioning him any further. The German simply nodded, still wearing that grin of his, and uttered:

"Very well- that's good! I just took notice of that glance you sent my way. Noticed that it was one of wariness, yes? I get those looks often, I'll divulge that to you, but fret not...I can assure you that I'm harmless. Relatively. Besides, if anything, the one thing you should ever worry about is this voyage- whether or not it'll go down the same path as the one Hindenburg did, hm?"

The German briefly tittered at his own dark joke, and then concluded, waving farewell to the bewildered ticket master with an utterance of "Hope it succeeds!", and the young man could only sigh in relief as the German merged once again with the crowd and entered the ship, for he was no longer in the presence of a man he thought to be a lunatic, and all the while unaware that, almost blissfully, he had not been privy to the full potential of the madman.

* * *

There existed a final individual, or, rather, a group of them, that qualified as being noteworthy, and, much like Karl, they, too, attracted glances, and with good reason.

This group consisted of a party of girls, thirty in number, and all appearing to be in their teens, with a handful of exceptions, one particularly notable exception being the leader of the pack, a short girl who looked no older than ten, clad in a striking frilled dress, having a head of absurdly long blond hair that extended down to her knees, and a pair of salient sapphire eyes, and all of this rounded off with a smirk that she wore, plastered on her face. This eye-catching figure led the band of girls that trailed behind her, all of whom were clad in much more regular clothing, but still had their own appearances to count for as prominent traits- indeed, the bevy of girls had various hair colours and styles all their own, with differing builds, and the fact that these followers were also foreign, appearing to be Japanese, also caught the attention of many an onlooker.

This menagerie of women, wordlessly following the diminutive blonde, absorbed the glances of several spectators, predominantly from those who were male, and even though they returned none of the glances they received, many witnesses, both in the watching audience and in the procession, swore through hushed whispers that a handful of the foreign beauties flashed smiles in their direction. One of these witnesses was, as with Rhodes and the crazed German man, the youthful ticket master, who, allured when he first caught sight of the party, attempted a number of times to catch a glimpse of them again, glimpsing, at most, the heads of hair that poked through the crowd, until the legion of women finally came into full view.

The ticket master, in the presence of such a multitude of fair young women, suddenly found himself rather awestruck, something that the blonde leader of the group swiftly noticed, and said, or cooed, rather, to the youth in front of her:

"Is something the matter...?"

The ticket master was suddenly jolted out of his reverie by this question, and responded, stammering, "Uh, no! Nothing at all...I was, er...just a little dazed."

The blonde and those immediately behind her eyed the man curiously, and then giggled, collectively, attracting a few nervous glances from passing onlookers but not disturbing the youth in the slightest, for, despite his excuse, he was dazed even now as he tried to respond again, and he did so by gesturing, trying to usher the group inside. The girls followed through, walking onward, but the blonde, and the others in unison, stopped by the ticket master's side, and the small dress-clad girl beckoned the young man with a gesture to lean down to her height. Confused, the ticket master did so, and the blonde girl cooed in his ear again:

"Oh, just to let you know, I'm afraid that we don't have tickets", she said, in a somewhat mischievous tone, "so when you visit us, we won't have much to offer you..."

The ticket master reacted to this news, trying to adopt a stern look and tone of voice and attempting to reprimand the group, saying, "Wh-what? I can't permit that, you know!" He paused, briefly, searching for words, and said, "You might all be young, but not having tickets is still unacceptable...you can't really be here, and-"

"We're aware of that," the girl said, cooing again, "but I'd like to inform you that we'll offer you something far more valuable than a simple piece of paper..."

The ticket master, though still trying to act stern, couldn't help but, through boyish instincts, inquire as to what the dwarfish blonde meant by this, and so asked, hesitating briefly, "Er...what would that be?"

"Simply put," the blonde retorted, glancing quickly at the crowd of girls that stood behind her and motioning for two out of the swarm to come forward, a mature, green-eyed woman with, like her leader, a head of distinct long blond hair, and a red-headed girl, her hair styled in twin tails, hefting a notably large suitcase over her shoulder with one hand and both sporting grins, both of whom suddenly and abruptly wrapped themselves around the startled youngster with another motion from the doll-like leader, who, in the face of the furiously stuttering young man, continued, "would you like to spend some...quality time with us?"

In response, the ticket master could only carry on stammering, before he finally managed to force out a coherent reply: "Q...Quality time...? W-Wait, you mean...with all of you?" He was answered by a nod, and the minute girl said, as the two girls continued to latch onto him:

"After a deal, of course."

"D...Deal?"

He was answered by a second nod, and the girl said, explaining, "We'll give you our company...if, of course, you keep our boarding this ship a secret from your colleagues." Whispering in the youth's ear yet again, she said, "You can accomplish a task as simple as that, can't you?"

The young man paused for a moment, and then nodded, replying, convinced, "O-Of course!" He paused a second time, and then seemed to correct that statement with a follow-up that was anxiously forced out.

"Th-that is, of course, I'll do the best I can, but...well, you don't anyone else, as well, or, er, at least, try not to...this is potentially risky for me, and-"

The small blonde nodded once again, in understanding, saying, still smirking and still cooing, "We have a deal..." before beckoning the two girls to return to her side, and proceeding past him, her entourage in tow, the horde of females speaking in hushed murmurs afterwards.

And, in the aftermath of that encounter, and in the wake of the bizarre 'deal' that was made, the ticket master sighed- he had encountered yet another special person, group of people indeed, and he could, at this point in time, only wonder about what he had potentially gotten himself into.

And these people on the outside were far from the only special people fated to board the vessel, either.

* * *

Back from the dead after a good five months. Study-related work didn't help either. Personally, I see this chapter as something of a low point, the end, specifically, which may be rather plodding repetitive and contrived- but, I'll let the readers be the judge of that. Here's hoping the next one will be out notably sooner.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Baccano!: Bandit's Sojourn**_

Chapter 3: The Stage Is Set Through Departure, And Disappearance- Interior

_The commotion commences..._

* * *

Inside the titanic vessel, as Max, Karl, the sizeable party of foreign girls and countless others before and after them flooded in through the entrance, striding down the lavishly carpeted walkways between the rows, searching for seats, or moving up further to unoccupied tables with still other passengers clambering up stairways that led to the upper levels, others that had been unknowingly ordained by fate to bear witness to what was soon to come had already boarded prior to their arrival. Dotted about the several floors that the gargantuan ship contained, these individuals continued about their business, entirely unaware of what was to transpire.

* * *

The first of these people, found on the first, lowest floor, was a youthful girl, brown-eyed, and with hair of a matching colour styled in a ponytail, clearly a teenager by her appearance, garbed in a simple yet elegant red dress, who was currently occupied with gazing out of a window to her left, propping up her chin on a hand and staring at the teeming crowd outside with a distinctly bored expression on her face, paying those that passed behind her no attention.

This girl, of Japanese descent, was Kyoko Nokogiri. Born in the heart of Japan, with her and her parents moving to the United States relatively soon after, at the start of the Great Depression in order to pursue a different life with not so outstanding results, she had swiftly transformed into a firm cynic in the process, with her birth nation's swift recovery as opposed to the USA still being mired in its own troubles only expediting her metamorphosis. With her parents managing to scrape enough savings, upon hearing of the Fair Lady, they urged their daughter to board it in the hopes that at least she would be able to lead a decent life.

Of course, with her being what she was, she regarded their actions with her natural cynicism, despite accepting them prior. Even now, as she stared blankly out of her window, reminiscing over the circumstances that brought her here, she could only describe their actions, and her current situation, thinking aloud, as being:

"Stupid."

With that irritated utterance, Kyoko turned her eyes away from the window and, instead, cast a glance at the stream of people to her right. Eyeing the procession of the wealthy and the privileged with the same flat expression, and yet with an underlying sense of disdain, and seeing them all as being nondescript, she quickly dismissed them, and turning away, reclining and staring at the ceiling. Sighing plaintively, she spoke once again to herself.

"The ranks of the rich and the influential...such boorish, gaudy types..."

As Kyoko made her analysis, having little else to do but stare into space, she braced herself for the journey that lay ahead-

Until an accent that stood out from the din of the crowd, evidently foreign in tone, and an odd glimmer caught the girl's eye.

The source of the sight and sound was a somewhat diminutive, portly and smirking figure. Clad in an immaculately clean white suit, with a head of combed hair, his noticeable fringe shrouding a bespectacled eye, with his glasses seeming to gleam, almost maliciously, and with an unnatural degree of luminosity. As the man calmly pushed his way through the crowd with hushed, polite utterances and excusing his way through, he came to a stop at the seat beside Kyoko's, and the Japanese girl decided to take a glance at this newcomer.

At first glance, despite the rather disconcerting smirk and disturbing gleaming, the man appeared amiable and normal enough. Taking his spotless suit and accompanying gloves into consideration, his remarkably clean and refined appearance was the mark of a gentleman. Then again, as Kyoko noted, the majority of the genteel and polite took cleanliness and refinement into consideration on a regular basis. However, upon closer inspection, Kyoko seemed to sense something profoundly ominous about him- something that the grin and the gleaming had already hinted at, and something that her current examination of him made clearer. As she looked at the man, she couldn't help but feel something foreboding emanating from him like an aura, something savage and primal in nature, and something that Kyoko wanted to find out, despite it unnerving her-

"Is something the matter?"

-but ultimately, she would not yet discover the true meaning of the dark aura the man radiated, as an abrupt question asked by him jolted her forcefully out of her reverie. Kyoko hesitated for a moment, and replied, simply, "I'm sorry? I was...caught up."

"Evidently", the man remarked, earning a frown from Kyoko before continuing. "I asked, is something the matter? You took your time staring at me. Analysing me, if I dare say so. Am I already proving to be bothersome?"

Attempting to remain distant, Kyoko replied, as flatly as she could muster, "No...not really. You just stood out. That's all."

The man's grin widened at her answer, and, as he took his seat he turned to look at her, the lenses of his spectacles still being illuminated to Kyoko's hidden discomfort. "Well, then!", he exclaimed, jovially, his grin receding into a less broad smile, "It's nice to know that I'm already turning one head. Before our voyage has begun, no less!"

Kyoko responded with a low murmur of approval, and a pall of silence hung over the pair until, to the girl's surprise, the man extended a hand. Kyoko hesitated, confused for a moment, before asking, "What's up with you being so cordial? You know we've only just met, right?"

"Of that, I am well aware," the man stated in response, "but I have swiftly reckoned that you, at least, will be good company on this journey. As a result, I think it's best I properly introduce myself to you."

He extended his outstretched hand further, and Kyoko, after a pause, took it, somewhat uneasily. "Maximilian- but Max is more preferable. You?"

"...Kyoko."

"Good!", Max responed, now visibly beaming. "It's truly a pleasure to be acquainted with you, Fraulein."

* * *

The second of these people was to be located on the second floor of the vessel, situated behind the counter of an on-board bar. A man of medium stature with a head of neat black hair, clad in black and white working attire, this character, one Hickory Chambers, was already preoccupied with serving a handful of patrons. Having prior skill, he had been selected to be among the airship's crew as a bartender, and it was in this position that he sat behind his counter, watching passengers file in and take their seats.

So far, the event had been mundane for him- the most he had done presently was serving drinks and engaging in idle chatter with customers, as he was a sociable person, eager to strike up conversations with others. As he sat, arms folded on the counter, waiting for new arrivals, he sighed inwardly as he continued to eye incoming passengers, and while he was aware that the current air of dullness would dissipate after take-off, he pined for something to tide the waiting over.

It also just so happened that fortune was gracious enough to answer said pining, as a man with his head bowed, garbed in particularly eye-catching clothing, namely a fedora and a jacket with a distinct brown shade and with a bag slung over his shoulder, entered with another batch of passengers, and, after casting a furtive glance at the bar, proceeded to hastily pace towards it and take a seat by the counter. Upon seeing this, Hickory sauntered over to his new patron, and asked, appropriately, "You in a hurry, friend?"

His question was answered by a brisk nod, and a short, concise statement. "Just need to get away from the crowds, briefly. Just need something small, too, to take my mind off being hounded."

"Bourbon?", Hickory replied, offering a suggestion. Another nod later, and, in moments, the beverage was prepared, with the customer swallowing the glass' contents in a single swig. Hickory arched his eyebrows, surprised, before posing a query in regards to the man's previous statement.

"Being hounded, you say? Popular fellow, plenty of social ties?"

"You could say that. I just don't want to go the length of this trip being bothered by others. I've already heard them whisper."

"To be fair," Hickory replied, "I can see why."

"Pardon?"

"I caught a glimpse of you mid-drink. Fedoras can't always hide everything, you know." Hickory's voice then dropped to a low whisper, and he continued. "You're that rather outstanding Daily Days guy, aren't you? Rhodes?"

A brief pause, and the man responded, somewhat uneasily, and in the same tone of voice. "...Karl Rhodes, yes. You're not planning on telling others, are you?"

"Surely," the bartender stated, pointedly, "they can't all be aware of you? And forgive me for being curt, but I doubt a journalist is the epitome of fame around here..."

"I'm certain of that, but there are some who know, at the least. I'm just on this trip to meet with a colleague in Europe, and being hassled isn't a priority of mine."

"Well, I understand that reasoning- you just want a peaceful journey. I can sympathise with that. Take off's soon, and I may be flooded with customers...in the end, though, it's all a part of the job, isn't it?"

"You could say that...pressure can still be irritating."

Hickory nodded in agreement, and, after a momentary pause, offered Karl a second glass. "Seconds?"

"No, thanks", Karl replied, declining, rising from his seat and sliding a handful of bills across the counter. "One's enough...it'll tide me over."

"All right. In advance, friend, have a good one, And, one more thing..."

Karl glanced over his shoulder at the bartender, who addressed him a final time, and assured him:

"Your 'secret' is safe with me, friend."

* * *

"That's the last of them..."

The youthful ticket master outside sighed with relief as the last handful of passengers, a group of individuals clad in salient white suits, carrying numerous suitcases and with a red-headed female figure leading the pack, filed in, both because of his job being over, and because of the rather hostile glares members of the aforementioned group had shot at him. But, for him, his duty was complete, and as he withdrew inside the ship, he smiled, inwardly, as his own burden was lifted from his shoulders.

Moments afterwards, the vessel shuddered briefly as it was detached from its moorings. Outside, as the crowds viewed the spectacle, a collective cheer arose as the now airborne beast ascended, embarking on its momentous voyage as, with a low hum that rose to a throbbing roar, the propeller engines activated, drowning out even the raucous din of the onlookers as the titan turned lazily, towards Europe, through the sky.

Inside the vessel, there, too, was celebration, amongst passengers and crew members alike. The young ticket master briefly indulged in the festivities, before the words of the blonde girl crossed his mind.

"I...suppose I should keep my end of the 'bargain'...but...did she honestly mean that...?", the youth wondered. "I mean, I can't deny that some of them were lookers," he said, thoughts drifting to the party of foreign girls, "but...well, perhaps they just meant to tease me!" Coming to his own conclusion, he continued, briefly. "I mean, 'quality time'...perhaps they like me, want to play around a little...nothing wrong with that..."

With these youthful thoughts in mind, he proceeded to follow the trail of the girls. Moving up a staircase, where he saw them last, to the second floor, he saw no sign of them after briefly searching, and he came to an obvious conclusion.

Slowly, he paced up a second staircase to the luxurious, lavish upper level, which, bizarrely, the ticket master found empty, save for one group- sure enough, strewn amongst the wide seats, were the bevy of girls, who were now training their eyes on him, and the youth found the blonde girl reclining in a seat near the staircase's top, with two others, the previously met orange-haired twin-tailed girl and the mature, green-eyed blonde, sitting on the arms of the seat, on either side of their leader. The ticket master took in the scene for a moment, and then asked, somewhat hesitantly:

"You, uh...called for me?"

The smaller blonde answered with a grin.

"That we did..."

* * *

So. Done. After six, nearly seven months, if anyone's still here.

And personally, I'm of the opinion that four is an unlucky number. This being the fourth chapter leads me to state that, but make of it what you will.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Baccano!: Bedlam's Sojourn**_

Days Pass, Restlessness Sets In, And Strangers Mingle

* * *

**September 27th, 1937**

Days since the start of the momentous voyage, the journey was, presently, proving to be rather uneventful. Passengers reclined in their seats, talked amongst themselves, or congregated by the bar, with Hickory taking it upon himself to regale customers with personal tales and engage in relatively idle chatter with his patrons.

And, as this was taking place, in the rearmost section of the first passenger deck, fevered whispers were being exchanged amongst a group of individuals clothed in immaculate, pristine white garments. This band of ruffians, comprised of several common and petty but experienced criminals, had recently been united under the leadership of one fiery redhead by the name of Yasha Bellini Russo, a woman of mixed Russian and Japanese descent who had previously been affiliated with the now infamous Ladd Russo, becoming a devoted follower of the man and a part of his criminal 'family'. Having heard of Ladd's incarceration after the events on board the Flying Pussyfoot, and after, appropriately, becoming vengeful, she had taken it upon herself to assemble a band of followers, in order to exact revenge through a grand act of violence- namely, what she intended to do aboard the Fair Lady. After all, knowing that the momentous maiden voyage of the vessel would be breaking news and subsequently covered worldwide, what would be better than disrupting the flight and causing chaos?

Her followers agreed to her proposal, and the aforementioned chain of events led to where they were at present, and, after the days that passed since the airship had departed from New York, the group had quickly grown restless. The group was now anxious to begin their plan, trading rapid-fire banter in hushed voices, with the exception of the leader, a stern-faced, red-headed woman, sitting cross-legged with a rectangular case propped up against her seat. She sat in silence as her companions continued their discussion, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, her expression contemplative, until an accomplice sitting near her, a large, brutish man in a fedora who had the appearance of a typical 'tough', leaned forwards and inquired, somewhat hesitantly:

"Guys in the back are getting nervous, boss...you reckon we should start now?"

"And risk the plan falling apart because their nerves are frayed?", the redhead shot back, mildly irritated. "I've heard them. They eschewing patience because they're too eager to go off on their own accord. Have them calm down, Puce," she said, addressing her colleague, "and at least attempt to make them repress the urge to act pre-emptively." The tough nodded in response, and, after a brief flurry of further frantic whispers, the hubbub died down, with a handful of the woman's cohorts exchanging worried glances before leaning backwards into their seats, with a handful still murmuring.

Yasha herself narrowed her gaze further, as, with determination fuelling her, she vowed, as she had before, to fulfil her duty, for both her sake and that of the man she swore unflinching loyalty to.

"_Soon," _she thought, _"after they simmer down, we'll begin...and then we'll set about freeing you..._

Balling her hand into a fist, she muttered her last thought aloud, in a barely audible whisper.

"Ladd..."

* * *

Kyoko found herself at an impasse.

For quite some time, she had been in the company of the diminutive, bespectacled German, and, as a result, had been privy to several of his sordid tales, discovering, in the process, that the man was enamoured of warfare and rampant destruction, and all things related to them. Not wanting to show that she was profoundly disturbed by his ramblings, she decided to appease him by conversing with him as he attempted to entertain her with his stories.

Currently, during a period of awkward silence, that was a decision she was beginning to regret, as she took advantage of the stillness to contemplate her current position.

"_What the hell have I decided to get myself into?"_, she thought, lamenting over the compromising position she found herself in. _"I've no choice but to continue to listen to his absurd stories...I was aware that something about him was troublesome, but I didn't imagine he'd be this depraved, or this-"_

Her train of thought was abruptly disrupted when she noticed Max staring at her, looking inquisitive. Kyoko responded by glaring back, and asking, stuttering, after a moment, "W-What? You have another story you want to tell me?"

The man grinned in response and raised his hands, slightly, in an apologetic gesture. "My apologies for having angered you...and, no, not yet, though I'm certain I can regale you with another tale of mine whenever the need arises." He then leaned sideways, still focusing on her intently. "That aside, you seemed deep in thought, yet again", he mused, intrigued. "Care to enlighten me as to what those thoughts were?"

The girl's reply was somewhat bitter, with the girl herself being mildly agitated by the query. "Primarily regarding how much of a war junkie you are..."

For a brief instant, the German appeared perplexed, puzzled by the girl's description of him. "Pardon?"

"Didn't you hear me? War jun-kie", she repeated, putting emphasis on what she deemed to be her nickname for the man. "You've rambled on about your love of war, and you've made it abundantly clear you adore the mere idea of it in every way imaginable...what better name is there for you?"

Max smirked. "I do admit that your moniker is remarkably accurate. But I assure you, my 'ramblings' are not devoid of purpose! With me attempting to entertain you aside- and you yourself can't deny that you were, perhaps, slightly intrigued- they are related, tangentially, to what a future job of mine entails."

"What 'job' might that be?"

"I am under strict orders from a higher authority that forbid me from revealing much about it, I'm afraid," he replied, as if he intended to tease the girl with his response. "What I can reveal, however", he stated, "is that it's a position in the military."

"Naturally", Kyoko quipped, dryly, anticipating such a statement.

"Though, that does lead me to wonder...what reason do you have for being here?"

"You ask me now?"

The man's smirk simply widened in response."My apologies, again, for immersing myself in my little yarns, and for, practically, not permitting you to speak because of that, but do tell- why are you here?"

"Since you're so eager to know," she replied, folding her arms, "I was sent here by my parents, after they insisted that I travel overseas, so that I alone, at least, could live a decent life. A typical tragic story, in ways."

"I take it, then," Max chimed, "that your parents were unfortunate victims of the depression that still continues to plague the States?"

He was answered with a simple nod, which, in turn, was met with a chuckle on the German's part. Max, now amused, stated, "You appear to be awfully indifferent to the aid they've given you, don't you?"

"Chalk that up to me being a cynic. Their reasons for sending me here are clearly understandable, but I'm not of the belief that life overseas will be any better, having experienced squalor and harsh living conditions beforehand."

Max hummed, intrigued. "Your apathy has been made clear...but what do you feel towards your parents, despite that?"

The girl arched an eyebrow, and asked, somewhat irritated by the question Max posed, "Do you enjoy being nosy?"

"I am merely enthralled by your attitude towards your current situation, and towards the wishes of your parents. You seem rather dismissive of their desire for you to live free from the troubles that they are affected by. That being said, what do you think of your parents themselves?"

"...The same applies to them, as well, really", she responded, flatly. "They're also understandable, and I'm aware that they're doing what they deem to be what's 'best' for me, but I believe that they're just hurling their daughter across the globe without considering the consequences that may befall her. Europe's suffered just as much, you know?"

"I do concur," Max replied, adjusting his spectacles, "but surely, nevertheless, they acted in their best interests, yes? Even if there might have been an apparent lack of foresight...they still did it out of love for their daughter, correct?", he said, grinning, again, as he often did.

A brief, uncomfortable pause followed. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, it's natural for parents to love their children, is it not? Therefore, seeing as they acted out of love to ensure your well-being, do you not love them in return?"

"...I suppose. But I'm more surprised by you engaging in a conversation like this, considering what you are."

"I am entirely capable of talking about subjects other than war, Fraulein!", he declared, almost proudly. "Although, by my own admission, what I say might be flawed, as I've never really been saddled with the burden of parental issues..."

This elicited a snort from Kyoko, and a short, sharp bark of laughter, as she retorted, snidely, "I suppose you eventually scared them off with your habits and behaviour?"

The question was answered by a chuckle, and by Max widening his grin slightly as he spoke. "Well, my eccentricity aside, I could never really interact much with my parents, for, at a young age, I had change thrust upon me. For that, I am almost envious of you, Fraulein."

Kyoko looked momentarily confused. "Why is that?"

"Well, you're still young! You, unchanged, can still be considered 'pure', and 'normal' in many ways..."

His wide-eyed gaze then narrowed into an intense stare, his eyes boring into hers.

"But, perhaps, you, too, will be changed. As you have discerned, I am not 'normal'- but change is an inevitability."

A smirk.

"It has an effect on us all, Fraulein."

* * *

In the pilothouse of the airborne beast, manning the controls was the man who was chosen for the prestigious position of the airship's captain, a man by the name of Marcus Watt. The captain, a young yet eager individual, was all too ready to attempt to prove himself worthy of his position on this voyage, and he beamed as he gazed out of the pilothouse's windows, as the titanic airship lazily drifted through the air.

"Has our course been set, captain?"

A question from his co-pilot, a novice, with this being his first flight, caught his attention.

"Naturally. And, without any adverse weather or interruptions of any kind, we should get to France with little trouble...we can only hope for the best, can't we?"

The co-pilot nodded, before remarking, "You're quite into this, aren't you, sir?"

"Why wouldn't I be? To command this ship on its maiden voyage is an honour. Though," he continued, "as you know, we can't afford laziness here. Vigilance is key during flights like this", he stated, pointedly, turned back, once again gazing out of the windows, admiring the view.

"One must always be cautious, after all..."

* * *

Well, here it is. After another six months. I do hope at least some of you are still with me.

I will attempt, in future, to release chapters at a quicker pace...but really, I suppose you're all expecting me to be slow by this point. As for the chapter, I admit that I believe it's flawed, and maybe even somewhat awkwardly put together...but I'll leave that up to you to decide.

I'm still alive, that's what counts.


End file.
